Under
the meadow's skyin movement stillnessEsme(e) gasped. The
women heard it, every 1,but no 1 of them movedor looked at 1 anotheror
at Esme(e). That
was the only sound:Esme(e)'s gasp. The
air hungwithout its vibrancyand
without its vivid spheres of depth and hue.It hung like a starving bird in its ultimate instantseeking with clouding eyesthe
final star,the star it had meant to take,home. Esme(e)
rose.Ferocity restrained with imperial willmade her awkwardand sliced
us with her vulnerability.She could not hope
to hide it,it was on her like a brand,and she did not care. She
cared not if we saw. She
was gone from us.